The White King and the Rose
by Orli's EEPs Chica
Summary: An evil sorceress... a frozen kingdom... a cursed king... and the one woman who could save him. My spin on Beauty and the Beast... let me know what you think!
1. Prologue

hey everyone!! so this is something of my own creation i've been working on for a little while... it's a bit of a Beauty and the Beast story... though perhaps not literal sense. This is really the first time/place i'm putting it up for criticism, so please do tell me what you think... and as always, enjoy! Also, i don't really like the title that i have currently... so if anyone can think of a BETTERone... it would be MUCH appreciated :)

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**The White King and the Rose**

**Prologue**

In a time long ago- so long that it has almost passed from memory, the northern kingdom of Kremlia flourished in the land of Anoria. In the old language, 'Kremlia' meant 'kingdom of diamonds,' for the beauty of the sparkling snow that would cover the land in the winter. For generations, the Kremlians lived in harmony with the creatures and kingdoms that surrounded them. In the spring, fertile lands provided generous crops that would last through the long winters, and game was plentiful for hunting. But this time of peace was not infinite…

The downfall of the realm of Kremlia began with a young prince, named Jareth. At seventeen, Jareth was everything that a prince should be- he was handsome, with dark hair and dark brown eyes that made every woman swoon, he was rich, powerful, and next in line to the Kremlian throne. His royal upbringing, however, had made Jareth spoiled, selfish, and arrogant. Brilliant of mind though he was, his intelligence was too often masked by an arrogant tongue. He was rebellious, and defiant of his parents' wishes for him to find a suitable wife; instead, he took lover after lover, giving one woman after another the hope that she might be worthy of a place by his side, only to leave her after a matter of days. In this way, his heart became cold; he viewed women as things to be used for his enjoyment, and love as a commodity that he had no time for. The king and queen, knowing that Jareth must take a wife, began a desperate search for a woman to wed their son. One night, a traveler came to the palace, clad in a rich, dark violet cloak that only someone of noble blood would be able to afford. Her name was Arantxa, she said, and her home was in the far north, past the borders of Kremlia. She had a majestic presence; with black hair and eyes the color of the midnight sky in winter. With one stare, she could stop anyone dead in their tracks. Her skin was a deathly, dramatic white, and she had high, delicate cheekbones, giving her a defined, regal appearance. When Jareth set eyes on her, he was instantly captivated by her intense beauty, and at that moment, it seemed as though he had found his queen.

But what Arantxa had not revealed to the king and queen was that she was a sorceress, and a powerful one at that. Jareth, however, saw how powerful she was and became jealous. Arantxa quelled his jealousy by agreeing to teach him her craft. She filled his head with sweetly seductive promises of power, greater than any he had ever imagined. Eager to learn, Jareth followed Arantxa willingly, happy to be her student. She taught him many things; how to draw strength from the earth, how to control the sea and the sky, how to summon the animals of the forest to his aide, and most potently, how to kill. Jareth devoured the knowledge hungrily, growing more and more power-hungry with each passing day. His magical abilities flourished; he mastered everything that Arantxa taught him, and more. Soon thereafter, Jareth succeeded at developing the power of empathetic sensing; the power to read minds, something that even Arantxa herself had not yet mastered.

The knowledge that he had surpassed his master was enough for Jareth. He had learned all that she could possibly teach him, he thought, and he had no further need of her. And so, he planned to be rid of her. He knew that Arantxa was like him- fierce and power hungry. With his new powers, he sensed her plot to use him to gain the throne. He continued to play the fool, letting Arantxa continue to believe that she was in control. Then, one day, he revealed her to the king and queen, and banished her from the kingdom forever. His guards arrested her, taking her to the Northernmost border of Kremlia and abandoned her, promising her death if she was ever to return.

Arantxa realized at once what had happened, and became furious. Her feelings of attraction toward Jareth turned to fiery hatred, and she vowed vengeance upon him and the kingdom of Kremlia. And so, returning to her home, hidden in the mountains, Arantxa plotted her revenge.

One night, under cover of darkness, she stole back into the imperial city. It was the night of a grand masquerade ball, in honor of the crown prince's eighteenth birthday. Masquerades were an ancient tradition in the North, and a time of grand celebration. It was a time when all were welcomed into the palace wearing their colorful costumes and grand masks, each person disguised. No one noticed the sorceress arrive, clad in dark red velvet, with a mask adorned with phoenix feathers. No one realized who she was as she moved inconspicuously toward the front of the hall, where Jareth sat, next to the King and Queen. No one recognized her, until she threw back her mask. Lifting her white hand, all fell instantly silent. Her fiery eyes locked onto Jareth's, and he found himself frozen with fear.

"Guards," he stammered, trying to retain composure, "seize her!"

The guards moved closer, but at that moment, Arantxa swept her hand toward them and they were hurled into the stone wall with bone-crushing force before falling to the floor, dead. Screams rang out, but no one dared to move. Arantxa turned back to Jareth who sat, horror-struck in his throne.

"You arrogant _**boy**_," she hissed angrily. Her voice was quiet, but the room was so much more so that everyone present could hear her as though her words had been magnified a hundred times.

"You could have had everything," she continued. "With me at your side, we could have ruled over the entire land of Anoria. We could have been all powerful. Instead, you have foolishly turned against me." Her words flowed from her mouth like silk; they were smooth and fluid, quiet but deadly. "Did you really think that you could beat me at my own game, Jareth? Did you honestly think you knew everything? **_I _**have power beyond your wildest imagination. **_I_** have power that could have made you great. **_I_**, Jareth, not you."

"Get away from here, witch!" Jareth spat, finding his voice. "I **_am_** powerful without you, Arantxa. My powers surpass even yours."

Arantxa laughed maliciously. "If that is what you believe, then you do not deserve what powers you have. I am the greatest sorceress of the age, and you are just a silly… little… boy," she spat out the words as though they were laced with poison.

Jareth's hand moved to his sword. "I told you once to leave," he said.

Arantxa raised a threatening eyebrow. "Do not worry, Your Highness. I will leave your kingdom. But first, you will pay for what you have done."

She pointed toward the throne where the king and queen sat and a blinding jet of red light shot from her fingertip. When the light died away, the king and queen were slumped over in their chairs, dead. She turned back to Jareth, who met her stare with furry and shock in his eyes.

"Kill me too, then," he said.

This prompted another laugh from Arantxa. "Brave," she remarked. "Which is uncommon coming from you, Jareth. But no, you are not to die today. For death is an end to suffering… you are not worthy of such an end. It would be far too easy. No… death is not punishment. Instead, I curse you… I curse you with immortality-" A jet of light shot toward him. It hit Jareth like a tidal wave, knocking him back before lifting him up in the air where he hung suspended, surrounded by the electric blue light, while Arantxa spoke.

"From this castle, Jareth, I condemn you to watch the ages pass. Never will you grow old, never will death strike you, no matter what harm befalls you. Never will you love, for the years of being alone will harden your heart to humanity, and time will freeze your soul. Your kingdom, too, shall share in your damnation. The animals of the forest are no longer your allies. They shall be beasts who hunt to kill and spare no one. What once grew in your lands to supply you with food will disappear- your crops will fail and your land will be barren. This, Jareth, is more punishing than death. Condemned to unimaginable lifetimes of watching your kingdom suffer, all the while knowing that all of this death and pain and agony could have been prevented, and that try as you might, you'll never be able to escape it."

Jareth fell suddenly to the ground, and the blue light evaporated.

He looked up in anguish as Arantxa stood over him. "You could have had me, Jareth," she said smoothly. "Remember that in the years to come."

And with a flash of green light, she vanished.

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The effects of Arantxa's spell could be felt immediately. As the castle emptied, the Kremlians felt as though they were carrying the weight of ten loads of stones on their shoulders. It was the burden of the curse that they now carried; the curse that would hang over their land for years to come. The sun disappeared, completely shrouded by steely grey clouds that hung mercilessly over the land, sending down an icy, silent snow that would cover the ground for the centuries to come, never melting. The forests that were once alive with birdcalls and the sounds of the animals fell silent. The realm of Kremlia was laid waste, and its king was lying where he had fallen as the transformation had taken place. He lay, in seemingly perpetual silence, his fair cheek pressed against the cold stone of the floor for what seemed like hours, praying death to claim him, but knowing that for the first time in his life of royalty, his wish would not be granted.

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The pace of time is a slow one for those who are waiting, but longer still for those who do not know what it is they are waiting for. It was in this way that time passed for Jareth. Most of the servants had long-since left the castle out of fear and despair, and those who remained kept their distance from the new, formidable king. And so, from atop the highest tower of his once-grand palace, Jareth watched the years slip slowly by. As Arantxa had predicted, the fate to which he had been condemned was far worth than the most painful of deaths. The friends that he had had slowly grew old and died, while he retained the youthful face and figure of an eighteen year-old. He shunned companionship, unwilling to watch the ones he cared about die. After nearly a century had gone by, nomadic tribes from the North began to encroach upon Kremlia's northern borders. Jareth led his armies to several battles, each time hoping that he would meet his end. But as Arantxa had promised, he found no peace from death. No matter how many times he swords cut his flesh or arrows pierced his heart, he did not die. The curse did not stop him from feeling pain, but as the years and battles wore on, he developed a considerable resistance to it. There was no fear, no fear of succumbing to the wounds, as with the fear also went the feelings of pain. He was numb— the pain became routine, and affected him little. The border war did not last long; the northern peoples were subdued easily, leaving Jareth no choice but to return to the shelter of his castle.

As the years continued to pass ever slowly, it seemed as though things grew progressively worse. Food was scarce- most of it was scavenged; a few hunting parties ventured out, but chances of surviving a hunt were slim. From his bastion in the clouds, Jareth watched his people starve by day, and freeze by night. The city was in ruin, the people lived in huts, struggling to survive, and there was no salvation in sight. Kremlia was a barren wasteland, and would remain so for centuries to come…

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_review_:)


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

400 years later

Sunrise over Ania was a sight unrivaled by any other in the kingdom. To view the great golden orb of the sun rise up over Corsca bay, its rays dyeing the velvet blue sky a palate of colors from wisteria to fiery red was like viewing a one of a kind piece of art, and no two sunrises were ever alike. The view of the sunrise from anywhere in Ania provided a splendid sight, but watching it from the topmost balcony of the royal palace was sheer magnificence. It was from this bastion that the princess of Cassalie sat, nearly every morning, to view the celestial occurrence. Resting her head on her hand, she stared out across the rooftops of the city to the water, as the wind gently ruffled her dark chocolate hair. It was so quiet, she thought to herself. The silence of the morning was her favorite time of day. It was quiet, but naturally so. The faint sounds of birds and beasts were audible, and the soft rustling of the wind as it churned the cauldron of the sea was never absent. It was nature's time; the world as it was meant to be, without human interference, a sacred time. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sky would begin to grow lighter, creating a perfect gradation from orange on the horizon to yellow, reddish pink, pale purple, violet, and finally, blue. Overhead, the last of the stars gave final flickers before dying away as the night bowed down to the day. Below where she sat, the princess watched as the city came to life as the sun climbed higher. Voices began to rise up from the street vendors as they wheeled their carts into the square, whistles could be heard of men going off to work in the fields. With all these sounds came another, this one from the interior of the palace.

"Samaire… Samaire… close the door…" came a moan from inside.

Samaire rolled her eyes. "Fantina, you have to wake up eventually." She watched as her younger sister sat up in bed groggily, an annoyed expression on her face.

"Yes," she said, "But I would rather it be later in the day."

Samaire slid off the stone bench that she'd been sitting on, and walked through the open glass double doors into the bedchamber that the two sisters shared. The room was spacious to say the least, with long walls and a twelve-foot ceiling. Samaire's four-poster canopy bed was on the left side of the room, and Fantina's was on the right. The room was done up in varying shades of magenta and purple, and the furniture was made of moji wood, a light wood of a lacquered honey color. In the corners of the room stood tall, hand-painted ceramic vases full of the dark pink popi flower. Each girl had an elaborate vanity, mirror, and settee on their respective sides of the room, creating an almost perfectly symmetrical atmosphere. This, however, was the extent of the symmetry. With one look, it was obvious that the two sisters were very different from one another. Samaire's side of the room hardly looked as though anyone lived there; everything was neat and deliberately placed. Books were the most abundant object to be found; Samaire's bookshelf appeared to be full to the breaking point with the thick, heavy volumes. On her walls were large maps and famous works of art by Cassillian painters. Fantina's side of the room was completely the opposite. Colorful dresses and gowns were strewn over nearly every surface. Instead of books, Fantina's shelves were filled with perfume bottles, jewelry boxes, and makeup.

Samaire noticed these differences nearly every day. She knew that she and Fantina were as different from each other as night was from day. The differences began physically- both sisters were beautiful, but each in her own way. Fantina was the perfect picture of the ideal Cassillian. She was tall and slender, with dark, tanned skin and hazel eyes. Her crowning beauty was her long hair that hung down her back like tendrils of spun gold. It was said that Princess Fantina was the most beautiful woman in Cassalie. Samaire, on the other hand, shared none of Fantina's "Cassillian" features. Samaire had long, dark hair, dark eyes that were a hybrid hue of blue-grey and unnaturally pale skin, which she found odd. Cassalie was hot; the sun beat down nearly every day, but despite her many attempts to become darker, Samaire remained pale. An old gypsy woman had once told her that she had Northern blood in her, but Samaire knew that that was impossible. She had rarely ever seen someone from Kremlia; just the occasional trader who sailed down the Nivea River; but those men said little and kept their fur-lined hoods up. Samaire wasn't the least bit Kremlian, but she certainly looked the part.

Aside from looking different, the princesses had completely different personalities. As next in line to the throne, Samaire was well-educated-- an intellectual diplomat, ready to assume her role as leader of her people. Since her seventh year, she had undergone copious hours of instruction on absolutely everything a queen needed to know, from the history of Cassillian fish markets to how to hold a soupspoon properly. She had even been trained in combat as well, even though the risk of Cassalie becoming involved in a war was about as likely as the sun falling out of the sky. Fantina, being second born, had never been required to have such an extensive education, and had more freedom than Samaire. She was outgoing and social while Samaire was quiet and reserved.

But perhaps the most fundamental difference between the two sisters: Samaire rose early, while Fantina slept in.

"I don't see why you must be up so early, Sammie," Fantina continued. "What can be so interesting about a sunrise after all?"

"Perhaps if you'd actually get up early enough to watch one, you'd understand," Samaire joked.

Fantina groaned and slumped back down against the pillows. "Samaire, you're so strange," she said.

Samaire responded with a wan smile, but said nothing. Going to her large wardrobe, she began to dress. Slipping out of her sheer sky-blue night shift, she donned robes of foreboding black. As part of her education, she was required to attend the meeting of the Cassillian parliament every day. The black robes were an ancient tradition, but Samaire disliked them, for they made her pale skin even paler. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed. Too thin, too pale, too dark of hair… too non-Cassillian, she thought. She quickly pinned back her hair neatly in a bun, fastening it with a silver and sapphire clip shaped like a butterfly. Looking back at her sister, Samaire saw that she had drifted off again.

"Fantina," she said sternly. "Fantina, wake up. Guido will be expecting you." Guido was Fantina and Samaire's teacher. Now that Samaire had reached the age of seventeen, she only attended formal lessons once a week, but since Fantina had not yet come of age, she still had to attend every day.

She groaned. "Nooo…"

"Yes," Samaire responded, shaking her sister gently. "Or mama will be angry if you're late again. And with father gone…"

"I know, I know. We mustn't make Mama worried or angry… you drill this into my head every day, Samaire."

"And yet you never listen," replied Samaire, defeated. She touched up her cheeks with a pale pink powder, and added red gloss to her lips, giving her face a hint of color.

She studied herself in the mirror. Not beautiful, she thought, but good enough to get by.

Turning to Fantina, she said, "Well, try to wake up before Mama sends the royal guard to fetch you."

Then, with one last look at herself in the tall, gilded mirror next to the door, Samaire left the room. The corridor outside her room was fully lit with sunshine that streamed in the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. The palace was serene and quiet at this time of the morning, especially in the east wing where the royal family slept. As she made her way to the center of the palace, there were more signs of life; the servants were beginning to make their rounds or set off for their daily duties. Samaire was headed toward the Senate building, which was just across from the palace. When she came to the entrance way of the palace, she was met by four tall men, clad in royal blue tunics, pants, and cloaks. They were members of the royal guard, there to escort Samaire to the Senate. Samaire had always thought the excessive amounts of security superfluous, but her father and his many advisors insisted that it was necessary.

Her guards bowed to her in unison. "Your highness," the leader said.

"Good morning Anatoli," she greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning, Princess," the head of her security force returned the greeting.

"Has there been any news of my father?"

"None as yet, Your Highness. The last we heard from them was before the caravan began its travels through the mountain passes. They're likely to be another week, perhaps longer. I am certain there is no need to worry," he assured her.

Samaire laughed lightly, her fluid, musical voice ringing out across the air. "It is not I that worries, Anatoli, it is my mother."

The guard smiled. "Come," he said. "It would worry your mother more if you were late."

They set off in formation, one guard on either side of Samaire. Exiting the palace, they walked down the many stairs that led up to the door. A slight breeze ruffled Samaire's formidable black robes, causing them to billow out behind her. In front of her, she could see the city of Ania spread out before her. The city was positioned between a large lake, Lake Lapis, and the sea. The palace itself sat on the lakeshore, and the grounds encompassed most of the space around it. The city sprawled out from the front of the palace, and reached down to the sea.

As they walked, Samaire could see people stop from their work to watch her pass by. Young and old, they watched the pale, young princess walk, head held high and spine rigid, to the Senate building.

Walking beside her, eyes sweeping warily from side to side as they always did, Anatoli was constantly aware of the princess's presence. He had been a member of her guard since her childhood days; he knew that Samaire saw him as a sort of father-figure, and knew their friendship helped to fill the hole that her father's reticence left within her. It was no secret that the King of Cassalie had many important responsibilities. But for too long, Anatoli had seen the royal family drifting farther and farther apart as affairs of state became more and more pressing.

In his heart, Anatoli knew that Samaire would make a fine queen. She was graceful, elegant, wise, eloquent… she had a sense for the world, and more importantly, for the people in it. She learned most things through silent observation, and rarely had he ever heard her lose her temper or raise her voice. And yet, for her quiet ways, she demanded attention. When she spoke in the Senate, Anatoli knew, every ear listened.

The small procession made its way into the Senate chambers. The council of six Elders who presided over the legislature were already standing at their chairs at the front of the semi-circular chamber. Samaire's throne sat in between them. Hers was the seventh place, with three Elders seated to each side. She took her place austerely, and with the drop of her iron gavel, the session began

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Four hours later, the Senate adjourned.

The senators themselves filed out, most arguing over the day's proceedings, or suggesting amendments to be brought to the floor the following day. Samaire, however, lingered in the chamber, seated in her throne, allowing herself a few moments of blissful silence. The day was hot, as were most of the days in Cassalie. The fabric of her black robes seemed to be made of the heaviest fur—she felt as though she were drowning in the heat that they produced. She rubbed her temples, willing the dull, hammering pain in her head to subside. The session, as most inevitably were, had been taxing and ultimately counterproductive.

'Foolish men,' she thought. She hated diplomats.

Worse, she was one of them.

With a sigh, she stood up, reaching a white hand to the tight bun that held her hair in place. She shook out her long, dark locks, and felt some of the tension leave her.

Her eyes swept the chamber, ensuring that it was indeed completely empty, before she reached up and turned the jewel that adorned the top of her throne. As she did so, she heard a small click beneath her. She reached down, lifting up the trapdoor, which was hidden beneath the large, ornate rug that sat in front of her throne. The rug was attached to the trapdoor so that it covered it completely, making it easy for Samaire to make her exits from the Senate chamber. She opened the door, revealing a steep, stone stairwell. She turned the jewel back to its normal place, so that the door would lock itself behind her when she closed it.

Samaire descended the stairs, trailing one hand along the wall for balance. Twenty steps later, the floor leveled off and widened.

The secret corridor was one of many in the old palace. It was cold and dimly lit by torches that had been enchanted by the court sorcerer so that they burned night and day, never going out. The only sounds in the passage came from the sound of Samaire's footsteps, and from droplets of condensation as they fell from the ceiling. The walk from the Senate back to the royal family's quarters was a long one and was perpetuated by the fact that there was nothing to look at—just continuous stone walls

When the tunnel did end, it brought Samaire to a door located behind a large tapestry, just before the hall that led to her bedchamber.

As the tapestry swung back into place, she heard footsteps coming toward her. They were too heavy to be Fantina's, and the only servants who came up during the day were usually finished their tasks by now. _Who would be up here this time of day? _She wondered. Suddenly, she realized that it could mean only one thing. She turned to make for her bedroom, but the footsteps rounded the corner before she could flee, and her suspicions were confirmed.

She let out a small sigh of frustration as she stood face to face with her least favorite person in the world.

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	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Your Highness! Just the person I was looking for," said the tall, blonde man that stood before her. He took Samaire's hand, and placed a chivalrous kiss on it. She suppressed a look of disdain.

"Ieago," she greeted him as politely as she could. "What a… surprise."

"You were not expecting me until tomorrow, I imagine?" he said, watching her face intently. "Our scouting party returned early. I was hoping we might walk in the gardens…"

Samaire weighed her options. She could feign sick and avoid spending the afternoon with Ieago. But that would earn her mother's displeasure… _Which is the last thing I want to do with father gone, _she thought grudgingly.

"Of course," she answered crisply. _For the good of the kingdom, _she thought sarcastically.

Ieago took her by the arm, and together they began to walk back through the corridors, until they reached the sprawling gardens that led off the back of the royal family's wing of the palace.

"I am sure you've heard of our latest exploits north, Your Highness," Ieago began eagerly.

"I believe Anatoli might have mentioned something of it to me," Samaire replied vaguely. In truth, she hadn't the slightest idea of where Ieago's scouting party had gone. Nor did she particularly care.

"We came upon a band of raiders near the silver mines," he said. "Northerners," he added darkly. "They must have come down from the mountains. We outnumbered them, though. Such were the odds against them, it was barely a fight. Our battalion was extremely prepared—we left none alive," he finished excitedly.

Samaire felt sickened. She hated hearing of violence, especially when it was talked about so easily, as though killing a person was no more of an ordinary happening than brushing aside a bothersome fly.

"You were not worried, then, about disturbing the peace at the borders?" she asked.

"_They_ attacked _us_, Your Highness. I assure you, we were well justified."

"If they were so outnumbered, should it not have been easy to take prisoners?" she argued.

Ieago looked outraged. "If I may say so, You Highness, you are too much of a pacifist. Times are unsteady… circumstances such as these require decisive action to be taken— "

"If times are so unsteady, should we not do all in our power to work toward establishing peace?"

Either he had no further rebuttal, or he thought it a wiser option to stay silent. Whatever the reason, Ieago seemed to have been temporarily put in his place, and they walked without speaking for a few moments.

Then—for it seemed as though Ieago couldn't go incredible lengths of time without speaking—he changed the subject.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "let us put this serious talk behind us. What news of our wedding?" he asked eagerly. "Has your mother set the date yet?"

Inwardly, Samaire cringed. Why was it that every time she saw Ieago, he mentioned their impending nuptials? It was bad enough that they were betrothed—was it really necessary for him to remind her of it every waking moment that the couple spent together? Their engagement had been her mother's doing. When Samaire had turned fourteen, Queen Jamina had taken it upon herself to find a "suitable" match for her daughter. Ieago had been the obvious choice—he was only three years her senior, the son of an affluent count and cadet in the Royal Cassillian Army. The marriage agreement had been made without Samaire's consent or even approval. To say that Samaire had been enraged when she learned of the betrothal would have been an understatement. She had begged and pleaded with her father, who had always been an advocate of "following one's heart," as he would put it in his gruff, kind voice. But the king refused to yield, agreeing with his wife that it was a good match for the young Crown Princess. And so, for the past three years, Samaire had been subjected to spending long hours with Ieago. She suffered them mostly in silence, resigning herself to the fact that after a fast-approaching, yet unnamed date, this would be the rest of her life. It wasn't as though Ieago were a horrible person—he was just annoying. He was devilishly handsome—even Samaire had to admit that—with scruffy blonde hair that refused to be tamed, sparkling green eyes, and a mischievous smile. There was an inherently boyish air about him, and it was this youthful exuberance that Samaire found tiring. Ieago was too loud, too cocky, and too shallow for Samaire. He didn't care about important things or solving problems… in Ieago's mind, money could solve all problems and keep everyone happy. She shuddered to think of the kind of king he would make. _Consort_ king, she reminded herself. By Cassillian law, the true ruler of the country was the direct blood descendant, regardless of gender. Ieago would be king in title only—the ruling powers would rest with Samaire. Which was just as well, she thought. Of the two of them, it wasn't difficult to see who would be the more effective leader. This, though, seemed to be the most ironic injustice of all, she thought. She was next in line to the Cassillian throne. She was the one who would be entrusted with the future of the kingdom. And yet, she couldn't be trusted to decide for herself who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?

It was maddening.

"I expect that when Father returns, they will discuss it." She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Speaking of which, you didn't hear any word of Father in your travels, did you?"

"Nary a word," he responded. "The last thing anyone heard was that they had crossed the borders into Kremlia, several days ago."

Samaire nodded, and fell silent again. She was a worrier by nature, and with while she knew that her father's caravan was well protected, she couldn't shake the nervousness that she felt when she thought of him so far away. She hated these expeditions, rare as they were, when the King would go north, inspecting trade routes and passing through several of the mountain towns in Cassalie, before crossing over into Kremlia. She thought of her father's reassurance that he had given her just before leaving this time.

"There is nothing to fear, Samaire, my heart," he had said, sitting in his large, purple velvet chair in his study at the palace. "The Kremlians are not belligerent people. They do not seek to make war with every soul who enters their kingdom."

"But times are different, Papa," Samaire had argued.

"Times are no different than last time I ventured North," the king responded. "Time does not change, Samaire. Remember that. No matter what happens, time is constant. It is never-ceasing… its pulse beats as strongly and as evenly as it did when the gods created it. Time does not change. The people in the world do."

"Well the people in the world seem to be intent on ill things as of late," Samaire had said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know as well as I do, father. Just in the past year, their have been several incidents near the border."

Her father sighed. "Samaire. All I can ask is that you try not to worry yourself. This is a routine trip, as was my last one. I returned from that expedition well and whole, and expect nothing less than that same outcome from this one."

The tone of his voice had signaled that that was his final word on the subject.

_Father isn't worried, _she told herself. _There's no reason to be worried. He said so himself. _She tried to take her mind off of it, letting her eyes wander around the gardens as Ieago started to babble on about a successful day of hunting his battalion had had while away. The royal gardens were made up of a vast labyrinth of hedges, which led to various open patches of land, in which there could be found every type of flower, tree and blossom that bloomed in Cassalie. They were coming upon one of Samaire's favorite places—a small clearing with a tall weeping willow tree that stood over a small, shallow pond, surrounded by small, pink roses.

As they approached, Samaire could hear voices coming from up ahead. When she and Ieago entered the clearing, to her surprise they found themselves face to face with Fantina and a young, handsome dark-haired man, sitting together beneath the branches of the willow tree, lips joined in a kiss.

Samaire cleared her throat, and the couple pulled apart.

"Samaire!" Fantina gasped, looking flushed. "I didn't know- "

"That the Senate let out nearly an hour and a half ago?" Samaire finished.

"That you'd be walking in the gardens today," said Fantina.

"Remind me when I started giving you a daily itinerary of everything I do," Samaire said, rolling her eyes. To the dark haired man, she said, "Hello, Illan."

"Hello, Your Highness," the man returned her greeting, standing up and helping Fantina to her feet before bowing politely to Samaire.

"No need for formality," Samaire replied. "I have had enough of it for one day."

The mood in the garden seemed to ease as the foursome laughed lightly.

"Illan was just here to say goodbye to me, before he leaves tomorrow," Fantina said. "His ship is sailing to Merona tomorrow morning."

"I keep trying to tell her that it will be a quick trip," Illan said, putting an arm around Fantina. "To Merona and back takes only a few days. And the sea is calm. I'll be back before the week is out."

"So long," said Fantina dramatically.

Samaire laughed.

"So what brings you to the palace, Ieago?" her sister went on, focus shifting to Samaire's companion.

"Visiting your sister, of course," he said, smiling broadly.

"Would you be offended if I should steal her away from you?" Fantina asked.

"I suppose not," Ieago replied. "I'll be in Ania for a few weeks. Samaire and I will have plenty of time to see each other, I'm sure. Won't we?" he gave Samaire a sideways look, and she feigned a smile as he took her hand for the second time that day and kissed it.

"Of course."

"I'll take my leave also," Illan said, turning back to Fantina, who put her arms around his neck, pouting slightly. "I'll be home before you know it, my love," he said, kissing her once moreon the lips, before removing himself from her grip.

Together, the two men left the garden, leaving the two princesses alone.

Once she was certain they were out of earshot, Samaire turned to Fantina and said with a smile, "What do I owe you for that rescue?"

Fantina giggled. "Only that you won't tell mama," she replied. "Not yet, anyway," she added.

"Agreed," said Samaire. "But she's bound to find out eventually."

"Well, once we're engaged, she'll have little say in things."

"She's the _queen_, Fantina. She gets to have a say in everything."

"Well not about who I marry," Fantina said stubbornly. "I'm not the crown princess. For all anyone cares, I might as well not even be royal."

Samaire laughed. "If only I had the same luxury," she mused.

"Frankly, Samaire, I don't understand what's wrong with Ieago. He's ridiculously handsome," she giggled.

"And completely air-headed," Samaire added. "He's not for me," she sighed. "Every minute I spend with him only makes me hate the future more."

"Then don't marry him," Fantina shrugged. "I'm sure there are many other Cassillian girls who would jump at the opportunity, were he to become suddenly… unattached."

"I have to marry him," Samaire responded. "It's my duty."

Fantina laughed. "Listen to yourself, sister. You sound as though life has no further meaning than that."

"That's what my life _is_, Fantina. I was the firstborn—I am in line to inherit the throne. The line needs to continue with me—and as such, I must marry. I just wish there was someone more worthy out there…" she added wistfully, sitting down on the soft grass.

Fantina joined her.

"So Illan is going to propose to you, then?" Samaire asked, fingering the petals of a nearby rose.

Fantina's face broke out into a wide smile. "I think so," she said shyly. "He says he will wait until I'm sixteen, at the end of this year, and then we'll have a long engagement, of course. But at least it will be official."

"You're so young, though," Samaire said, "are you certain that this is what you want?"

Fantina nodded. "I know it is. Even though Illan is not a count, or a lord, I know that he loves and treasures me more than anything else. And that is worth far more to me than riches or a title. And I love everything about him, Samaire. I've never been so sure of anything before…"

She placed a hand on Samaire's wrist. "You've never been in love before, sister. If only you could know what it feels like…"

"Yes," said Samaire softly under her breath. "If only…"

* * *

bahhh... so here i am writing this when i should be writing papers for school... 

oh, and because i forgot to do this at the beginning...

Disclaimer/Copyright: This story and its characters are of my own creation, so please don't use the characters/locations/etc. without permission...

review??


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Later that night found Samaire awake on the balcony, unable to sleep. The hour was very late—the city of Ania was darkened under the moonlit sky. Fantina had long since drifted off, and Samaire could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing through the open double doors. The night was even more peaceful than the sunrise had been that morning, Samaire thought. From far away she could hear the ocean crashing against the rocks in the harbor as it welcomed in the night tide.

As she sat in the silence, Samaire's mind was busy replaying the evening. After Fantina had "rescued" her from her betrothed, the day had taken a pleasant upturn. The sisters had spent the rest of the day together, and thankfully alone.

And now, hours after their conversation in the garden, Samaire found her thoughts still dwelling on it. She had known about Fantina and Illan for many months now—she had met him on several occasions—but had never seen them display their affection for each other that intimately. It had suddenly occurred to her that afternoon that Fantina was no longer a girl. How easy it was, she mused, to think of her that way. Just a few years ago she had needed Samaire to look after her… to make sure the sash of her gown was tied properly, to make sure she studied her lessons. But now… _she's a young woman… about to be engaged... _

Engaged.

The word sounded foreign, especially when associated with Fantina. But after seeing her sister with Illan today, there was no mistaking that the two were perfect together. Samaire couldn't forget the tender look that had filled his eyes when he looked at her sister, and the devotion that had been reflected in Fantina's.

How strange it was, to imagine her little sister married…

_Well, you will be too, before long, _the logical voice in her head argued mildly.

"It's not the same," she murmured out loud to herself. Her marriage would only be on paper. There was no way, she knew, that she could ever fall in love with Ieago. At least, not in the way Fantina was in love with Illan. She supposed she might eventually come to tolerate him, but that was the extent of it. There would be no tender looks, no holding hands, no kissing beneath the willow tree.

It was ironic, she though. Though her sister was only fifteen, she knew more of love already than Samaire ever had.

The thought did nothing to comfort her.

As the moments slid by, Samaire felt a swift, silent feeling of panic descend upon her. She felt suddenly trapped… suffocated. She would marry Ieago. And then what? She _would _be trapped—forever.

_That's not what I want! _She cried mentally. _I want to _love _someone… to be loved in return_.

For the first time, she found herself wishing she was someone else—anyone else—than the Crown Princess of Cassalie. Anyone else would be able to marry who they pleased. Anyone else wouldn't have to worry about producing an heir to the throne. Anyone else would be free…

A single tear slipped down her white cheek, falling onto the stone balcony, catching the light of the stars as it landed. The night wore on, and Samaire continued to sit, feeling unequivocally alone.

* * *

The next morning found Samaire in her mother's chambers, having been summoned before her day at the Senate would begin. When she entered, the Queen was standing in the family's sitting room, a small but spacious room with light paneled walls and colorful tapestries hanging throughout.

"Good morning, Mother," Samaire greeted her as she entered.

"Good morning," the Queen replied. "I won't keep you long… I know you have duties at the Senate…" she trailed off, and Samaire knew immediately why she had been summoned. It happened often when the King was gone; her mother would begin to suffer from bouts of anxiety in her husband's absence, and would turn to her daughter for comfort. Today was no different, and Samaire was prepared to deal with it in her usual way—cater to her distress, fill her head with empty reassurances. Her mother's neurosis was an annoyance, but Samaire had found that over the years it was better to simply placate her mother, as though she were a small child.

It was a definition of their relationship—her mother needed someone to lean on, and when King Gideon was absent, she turned to her next pillar of strength—her daughter.

"There's been no news of your father for days," she said, anxiety dominating her voice.

"Mother, I'm sure he is well," Samaire said soothingly. "Perhaps he plans to surprise you and arrive home early," she added, giving her voice an optimistic up-tone as she did so.

The Queen sighed. "I would rather have word that he is alive," she said. "Tell him that, Samaire. Tell him that when he returns. He listens to you…"

"I'll tell him," Samaire assured her.

Her mother gave a small smile, which Samaire took to be a good sign. Her work was almost done.

"I heard Ieago came to the palace yesterday," the Queen moved on.

"He did," Samaire replied stiffly.

"I don't understand why you don't approve of him, Samaire. He's the perfect match for you. He's young, handsome, valiant…"

_And arrogant, and conceited…_ Samaire mentally filled in.

"…perfect for the future king. Why, just think of the beautiful children you'll have!"

Samaire was jerked back to reality at her mother's words. Her look of horror must have been apparent, for her mother said, "Oh, Samaire, that look is so unbecoming of you. You really should _try_ to embrace the idea—the marriage agreement has been in place for three years already, and it is certainly not going away."

"With all due respect, mother, I don't understand the rush for me to be wed," Samaire said, carefully crafting her words so as not to sound impertinent. "I'm only seventeen. Many girls wait until nineteen, or even twenty…"

"_You, _however, are not most girls," her mother responded coolly. "It is custom for a young princess to take a husband when she comes of age. _Especially _if that princess is next in line to the throne. Cassalie _must _have an heir, you know."

"Mother, there would be _plenty_ of time for that!" Samaire protested. "Marriage could wait a few years… perhaps I could travel in Father's stead… I could see more of my kingdom, travel…"

"Out of the question," the Queen responded, and Samaire knew that she had pushed her mother too far. "None of us know what the future has in store. Something could happen… you might suddenly find yourself Queen should anything… happen… to your father. You know he wants to see you married…" her voice took on another level of hysterics. "You wouldn't defy your father, would you?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. "Not now… when he's so far away… You wouldn't want him to come home to discord?"

Time to take things back into her own hands, Samaire decided.

"Of course not, mother," Samaire said, bringing her voice back to a soft, soothing tone. "Forgive me. I was selfishly thinking of my own desires before my kingdom's. It was wrong of me. If it is for the betterment of Cassalie, then I shall bear whatever I must."

"It is the burden of a queen, daughter. It is your duty to bear it."

"Yes, mother."

"Now I'm to hear no more of this talk of traveling."

"Yes, mother."

"And not a word of this to your father—we wouldn't want to tax him with our womanly woes."

"I know, mother. And he'll be home soon."

Her mother put on a brave face. "Thank you, my daughter. You have been much comfort to me. Go now… the Senate awaits you."

And with a wave of her mother's hand, Samaire knew she had been dismissed.

As she left her parents' chamber, she felt like screaming.

_Heaven help me if I should end up like her, _she thought furiously. Her mother was weak, and she hated it. That wasn't how a queen should act, she thought as she made her way toward the palace gates to meet her guard. That wasn't how _she _would act. She would be a strong ruler, like her father. She stopped in the corridor, suddenly finding herself before a portrait of the very person she was thinking of. Her father looked very regal in the painting, standing with one hand on his throne, scepter in the other. The artist had captured him perfectly—tall enough to be a dominating figure, yet not overwhelming enough to be considered intimidating. His countenance was stern, but there was a hint of a smile that played around his lips. Samaire knew that her father was a just ruler, loved by his people. He was a good man, and a reasonable one. Perhaps, she thought, she might ask him one more time to waive the marriage agreement. If nothing else, she would spite her mother in the asking.

The thought made her surprisingly happy, and she strode toward her guard with her head held high with determination.

* * *

A/N: just a shout out to everyone who's reviewed so far: you all rock:)


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Her happiness was short-lived, however.

Tempers were running high at the Senate, and a tense fog seemed to have settled upon the palace. It had been nearly a week and a half without word from the King, and optimism was running low.

As she slept that night, Samaire's mind was racing, sending her spiraling down into the abyss of her dreams…

_She was running… running through a dark, dense forest, direction-blind and alone. Around her, she could hear things moving in the dark, creatures stirring, stalking her as she moved. The air was cold, and as she gasped to catch her breath it flooded her lungs, stinging and burning them until it felt like she was drowning. The howl of a beast sounded in the distance. Samaire's heart pounded in her head… she was lost… lost in this strange forest… lost in this overwhelming darkness. Suddenly, she tripped—catching her foot on an overgrown tree root. She fell to the ground, hands hitting the cold, icy ground. As she looked up, the she caught sight of a large, foreboding castle jutting up out of the mountains, silhouetted against the rising moon. All at once, the sky became bright… flames of white fire illuminated the darkness, and Samaire shielded her eyes from its brilliance. She heard a voice… but it spoke in a strange tongue… a Nordic tongue… chanting the same phrases over and over again. Another voice began, but this one called her name… "Samaire… Samaire… Samaire…" _

"Samaire! Your Highness, wake up!"

The princess's eyes fluttered open as she was jerked from the depths of her dream. She sat upright in bed, and tiny beads of sweat glistened on her brow. It was the dead of night, for the room was pitch black.

The door to her bedchamber was open, and Adonia, her lady-in-waiting was standing on the threshold, holding a candle in her hand.

"Adonia," Samaire said breathlessly. "What is it?"

"You must come, my lady," the woman said. She entered the chamber, and as she neared, Samaire saw the nervous look on her face.

"What's going on?" Samaire demanded.

Adonia looked hesitant.

"Adonia, whatever it is, I must know." Samaire threw back the covers and got out of bed, looking her squarely in the face.

"Some men from your father's caravan returned tonight," Adonia began. She stopped after she said this. Samaire gave her an expectant look, and she reluctantly continued. "But… the king… he was not with them… nor were many others who set out. They said that they were ambushed… but I know nothing more. Anatoli sent me to tell you to meet in the antechamber outside of the throne room."

Samaire drew in a sharp breath. Her mind was spinning… was her father dead? Captured? Lying somewhere in the wild, wounded?

Her face showed none of her inner turmoil. Instead, she said coolly, "Keep quiet. I do not want Fantina to awaken. Help me dress."

They did so silently; Samaire quickly donned a simple, royal blue gown, and brushed her long, dark hair as Adonia laced up the back. When this was finished, the two left the room noiselessly, closing the door behind them.

Through this whole ordeal, Fantina slept on.

Samaire strode toward the throne room as fast as her legs would take her. Beside her, Adonia jogged to keep up with her mistress's long stride. Anatoli was waiting for them in the throne room, which seemed larger and more ominous than ever, illuminated only by the moonlight that poured in through the glass ceiling. The only warm light came from the small chamber on the opposite side of the room. Anatoli bowed to Samaire shortly, then led her into the antechamber, his face alarmingly devoid of his usual calm expression. Adonia remained in the throne room, where she would wait until the meeting ended.

Within the smaller chamber, there sat a dozen or so of the king's advisors, and several ragged, weary-looking men, whom Samaire recognized as part of her father's caravan. Samaire's mother, the queen, sat at the end of the long, polished, dark wooden table, looking grave and talking with one of the men. The nervous voices stopped, and everyone stood when Samaire entered. They bowed, returning to their seats only after Samaire had taken hers at the head of the table.

All eyes were on her, and she assumed that she was expected to proceed.

"As I have just been made aware of the situation, I would like to be informed fully of what has happened," she said calmly, addressing the men from the caravan.

One of them, who called himself Gavin, spoke. "Permit me, Your Highness, to speak," he addressed her formally, and she nodded as a sign for him to continue.  
"The caravan was traveling the Northern Road near the border. We had made camp for the night, and had just begun the second watch when we were attacked."

"Attacked by whom?" Samaire asked.

"Northerners, my lady. Came out from the trees they did, as though they'd just been waiting there, watching us for hours, biding their time. We fought them off as best we could, we did everything we could to protect the king, but there were too many of them, with weapons that far surpassed ours. They surrounded us. We had no choice but to surrender to them."

Samaire's heart hammered. She was afraid to know the answer to the next question. "Is the king alive?"

Gavin paused for a moment, looking Samaire straight in the eye before saying, "Yes."

A fleeting but visible look of relief passed over Samaire's face.

"Where is he now?"

"Well," Gavin continued. "The Kremlians bound our hands and blindfolded us… we walked for what felt like days before we arrived at the White King's palace."

A murmur went up from the rest of the people in the room.

"Go on," said Samaire.

"We were all brought before him, still bound. He told us that we had come too far north, and that by the law of the land, he had the authority to hold us prisoners. King Gideon spoke boldly for us—said that we were on a peaceful exploration of the border towns… and that the White King had no grounds on which to keep us there. But the White King wouldn't hear of it. He said he would hold us prisoner until Cassalie ransomed us. He only let us four go so that we could deliver the message."

"And what ransom is he asking?" asked Deaglan, one of the King's advisors.

"He told us he wants Kremlian control of trade, all the way down to the Sindiri basin."

There was a loud voicing of dissent from the King's men.

"That's half of our kingdom!" Deaglan responded, outraged. "We cannot allow Kremlian control that far into our land!"

"There's more," Gavin interjected gravely. "He said that he wants the silver mines as well."

There was an immediate silence. All in the room knew that the silver mines, located in the mountains near the Cassillian border, were an integral part of Cassalie's economy. Without the mines, the kingdom's money stores would decrease by half. Then, indignant voices erupted again.

"The mines!"

"That's ridiculous!"  
"It's an outrage!"

Samaire pounded her fist against the table. "Gentlemen!" she said authoritatively, and the company fell silent. "We must not let our anger rule us now. I believe that we are all in agreement that the White King's demands are ludicrous, but the fact remains that the fate of our King is at his mercy."

"What exactly are you saying, Your Highness?" Deaglan asked, his eyes narrowed as he addressed. Samaire met his scrutinizing gaze with a cool one of her own. Deaglan was one of the few members of her father's court who doubted Samaire's ability to govern. He had voiced (on more than one occasion) the opinion that Cassalie could not be run successfully under the leadership of a female, despite Cassalie's laws, under which was stated that the bloodline would continue with the next heir—male or female. Still, there was a faction who opposed female rulers that had existed for centuries.

" I am suggesting that we negotiate. That seems to me to be the most reasonable course of action."

"You can't just negotiate with the White King, Your Highness, with all due respect," chimed in another member of the court, a man named Caedoc. "He is a tyrant. The few Cassilians who have ventured into his lands and lived to tell the tale can attest to this." He gave Samaire a sympathetic look—and she knew that he meant no ill toward her, as Deaglan perhaps did.

"I understand your concern, Caedoc. But we cannot forget what is at stake. We will not let my father wither and die in a Kremlian dungeon. Not only would it cause the people to despair, it would make us appear weak."

Several of the men nodded their assent.

"My proposed course of action is simple," Samaire said, "I will journey north to Kremlia and negotiate for the return of the King and the other hostages."

She looked around the room resolutely. The men stared back at her, as though appraising her resolve. Her mother, who had said nothing during the meeting, looked distressed.

"What will you risk?" Deaglan demanded. "If the White King's will does not bend—how much will you concede?"

"Trade routes and control are things we can stand to bargain with," Samaire responded. "But I will not concede to let Kremlia control routes as far south as Sindiri. Nor will I give up the mines."

"And if these negotiations fail?"

"Then I will send word for the army to prepare."

"You would risk war with Kremlia?" Deaglan challenged.

"There are some who have said that war with Kremlia will be inevitable, Deaglan," Anatoli said suddenly from where he stood, at Samaire's right side.

"What does a mere palace guard know of the politics of war?"

"Enough to know that what we stand to lose now is the same as what we will stand to lose in the near future. Whether we attack now or then makes little difference. Cassalie is well-prepared, should war begin. I agree with the princess's decision. Kremlia will either negotiate, or we will put them down."

Samaire gave Anatoli a discreet smile of thanks. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

Looking back to the men at the table, Samaire addressed them again. "We are in agreement, then?" she asked.

There was a pause, and then, one by one, the men began to nod.

"Very well," Samaire responded. Turning to Anatoli, she said, "Assemble my guard. We will leave tomorrow at first light. Tell only who you must."

He bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."

He turned and left the room. There was a sense of finality in the air, and presently the gathering began to disband. Some of the men filed out, others remained to speak with the messengers from the caravan. As he passed Samaire on his way out, Caedoc bowed to her, and smiling kindly, said, "I bid you good journey, Your Highness. May the gods watch over you and your endeavor."

"Thank you, Caedoc," Samaire responded.

Lowering his voice, he continued. "Pay no mind to Deaglan. He knows of your diplomatic competency, though he is too proud to admit it. I speak for us all when I assure you that we have the utmost faith in you." Then, bowing again, he left the chamber.

Hearing his words of encouragement lifted Samaire's spirits. Though her composure had not broken during the council, inside she was trembling. She was uncertain of the road that lay ahead of her now… she had never ventured North, and now she was planning to travel up to the gates of the White King's castle in Kremlia. She didn't even know if he would agree to see her, much less agree to negotiate. Would he see through her mask of diplomacy to the fear that twisted at her core? From the little that she had heard of him, the White King was not a kind man… what if she failed? Or worse, what if she was thrown into the dungeons with the rest of the prisoners? Surely that would spell disaster for the future of Cassalie.

She was jerked from her thoughts by Gavin, who suddenly appeared in front of her.

"Princess?" He looked visibly nervous, as he had during the meeting, as though unaccustomed to being in the presence of royalty.

"What is it, Gavin?" Samaire asked gently.

"With your permission, I would like to offer myself as a guide on your journey north. I have traveled the Northern passages many times with the trades… I know the roads well."

He looked down at his hands nervously. He was young; Samaire guessed that he could not be older than twenty five, and his face seemed to be caught between a boy's and a man's, as though it couldn't decide which it truly wanted to be.

"But you have just narrowly escaped from that place with your life," Samaire commented. "Are you certain you wish to return? You have barely had time to rest."

"My thoughts are with those still in the White King's dungeons, my lady. I feel guilty, that I was let free while the others are still captives. He sent back the three youngest, you see, and one who was stricken with fever. I thanked the gods every step of our journey home that I was spared from captivity… but my heart bids me to help you in your quest to free my comrades."

Samaire nodded. "I will tell Anatoli that you mean to lead us. But you must go now and rest. You will no doubt need your strength." She beckoned to one of the servants who had just entered the room. "Make sure that this man is given a bed and enough to eat. He shall accompany us when we set out tomorrow."

Bowing to Samaire, Gavin allowed himself to be led from the chamber.

Samaire turned her attention back to the now-empty chamber. The torches on the wall burned low, and she sank back into her chair, putting her head in her hands and letting out a disparaging sigh. The road ahead, she knew, would be anything but easy. Inside of her, she felt as though she were falling through a black, bottomless pit. She had no idea what to do… and worse, no idea of what was going to happen next. She thought of her father. The king of Cassalie was a brilliant man, and a wonderful ruler. For years, Cassalie had flourished under his rule. What if his time was over? Samaire thought. What if her negotiations failed, what if—by some horrible occurrence of fate—she was unable to free her father? Inevitably, it meant that she would ascend the throne. _But I'm not ready! _her mind screamed. She felt her eyes welling. Angry at her tears, she tried to fight them back, but the effort was rewarded with them spilling over. Samaire usually never cried; it was a rare occurrence for her, and not one that she enjoyed in the least. It was a sign of weakness, she thought, to cry. _Get a hold of yourself,_ she scolded. _A queen wouldn't cry._ She picked her head up from the table, wiped her eyes, as though in an act of defiance to the despair that threatened to dissolve her will.

"Your highness?" A voice beckoned to her from the door.

As she turned in her chair, Anatoli noticed the visible change in Samaire. The woman who had been calm, cool and collected in the meeting was now pale, her face tight and drawn, and her eyes red.

"Your mother requests your presence in her chamber," he said gently. "She wishes to speak with you before we leave."

Samaire stood up, smoothing out her gown. She let her hair fall around her face, trying to conceal the fact that she had been crying.

"Is she all right?" she asked in a small voice. "My mother… she does not take ill news well… especially about father."

"She will be fine, Samaire," Anatoli responded. "She has a strong, courageous daughter who is planning to do everything in her power to resolve the situation. And she loves you for it. Even if she is too proud to show it."

Samaire brushed away two more tears that had escaped.

"I should go then," Samaire said. "There is much I must do before we go."

She made to leave, but Anatoli's voice stopped her. "Remember, Samaire," he said in his calm voice that always eased her mind, "Fear is a perfectly human emotion. There's no shame in being afraid. It is only when you let your fear control you that you fall victim to it."

Samaire nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

He bowed his head. "I'll escort you."

And together they walked to the Queen's chambers.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When they arrived at the Queen's room, she was waiting for them, pacing anxiously and surrounded by ladies-in-waiting, all of whom looked as equally startled.

"Oh, Samaire!" the Queen burst out when her daughter entered the room. She ran to her, and Samaire suddenly found herself swept up in her mother's embrace. "It was as I feared," she whispered. "Harm _did_ befall your father."

"Father will be fine, mother," Samaire said, though as soon as the words left her lips she knew they were lies. She had no way of knowing if she would ever see her father again. There were too many things riding on chance and good fortune to be certain of anything.

The Queen pulled away. "Must you go? Can we not send another delegation?"

"It is best if I go," Samaire replied, fighting to keep her voice from breaking. "The White King has made a terrible error in judgment, imprisoning father. And with father gone, the rule of Cassalie falls to me. I will go and prove to him that our threats are not idle, and that we intend to see our demands met."

Samaire watched her mother's face. Her cheeks were wet from crying, and her eyes were two glossy pools of despair. She was a far cry from her normal, fair-skinned, rosy-cheeked self. Much as the two women disagreed, it pained Samaire to see her mother so. Guilt weighed on her also, as she recalled how quick she had been to dismiss her mother's worry earlier that day.

Her mother pulled her daughter to her again.

"Bring him home, Samaire," she whispered. "Whatever it takes… bring him home to me."

"I will," Samaire promised.

"Go, then," he mother said, pulling away and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Our kingdom's prayers go with you."

Samaire bowed respectfully to her mother, before turning to leave.

As she left, she felt more uneasy than she had when she'd entered. Now more than ever, she felt a sense of impending doom lurking just ahead of her. The knot that had been gradually tightening in her stomach since she had been unpleasantly aroused from sleep was now growing in size and strength.

She went directly to her chambers, where Fantina was still asleep. Adonia met her at the door.

"I began packing your things, my lady," she said, dipping her head in a short bow. "Princess Fantina is still asleep…"

"Good," Samaire said softly. "We must not wake her. It will be easier that way…"

She slid into her room noiselessly, going over to where a large canvas rucksack sat on the bed. Adonia had packed several of Samaire's plainer gowns, and a few fancier ones, which Samaire knew would be helpful once she arrived in Kremlia; as trivial as it seemed, she knew the fine velvet gowns would help her make a powerful first impression.

Silently, Samaire slipped a few more objects into the rucksack; two leather-bound books, both gifts from her father, and her sapphire brooch bearing the Cassillian crest.

She tied the sack so that it would stay closed and would be easy to transport, then began to remove the dress she was wearing, changing into an even simpler dress for traveling. She was mildly surprised at the calm demeanor that she was able to maintain; the intense fear that she had felt in the meeting had subsided considerably, and a new clarity drove her actions.

She took one last look around the room, her eyes finally resting on her sister, asleep in bed, unaware of what was going on around her. Fantina would not be happy with her leaving like this, Samaire thought. She would awaken to find that both her father and sister would be gone for an unforeseeable amount of days. And with Illan gone, she would be doubly worried. It pulled on Samaire's heart to leave her sister without warning, but time had left her no option. The King could be dying in a Kremlian dungeon—there was no time to waste. Even the minutes spent here, in her own room were testing Samaire's patience.

She had a sudden desire to breathe open air.

"Adonia," she said in a low voice. "I'm going out to the gardens for a short time. Anatoli has informed me that we are leaving at daybreak—if anything should change, come and find me immediately."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Adonia said.

"If Fantina awakens, tell her simply that I could not sleep and am walking there. Do not mention my leaving."

The servant nodded again, and Samaire left without another word.

She moved through the corridors of her family's chambers at her usual quick pace. The few servants that she passed looked down when she approached them, as though afraid to meet her eyes. Had word spread that rapidly, she wondered. The corridors began to seem increasingly small as she walked; her pace quickened until she was nearly running toward the terrace doors.

When she finally stepped out into the cool night air, she inhaled deeply as one gasping for breath after nearly drowning. She paused on the terrace, but only briefly, before descending the stone stairs that lead to the sprawling gardens, and the lake that laid beyond them.

She knew her destination, and began to run again through the gardens, her dress trailing along behind her, lifted by the breeze that her wake created.

The bridge on the lake was another one of Samaire's refuges; it was far enough from the palace to dissuade anyone from making the long walk, therefore providing Samaire with a place where she knew that she would not be disturbed.

Tonight, the bridge and the lake were as peaceful as ever, bathed in silver moonlight and surrounded by long, aged weeping willow trees. It smelled and sounded of night; the water lapped gently against the lakeshore, small, nighttime insects could be heard every moment or so. Samaire leaned against the wide railing of the bridge, burying her face in her hands. Her mind was racing again, and she was desperately trying to stop it. She didn't want to think—she _couldn't_ think—and yet, thoughts kept cascading through her mind, scenarios played themselves out, and—most unsettlingly— flashes of her worst fears kept surfacing.

"How did it come to this?" Samaire said softly to no one. She looked around vaguely, as though expecting an answer to come from somewhere, but the night was deaf to her question.

With a pensive sigh, she resumed staring out across the water, head resting on her hand, where she remained for quite a long time.

Moments slid by into hours, and day soon began to creep its way closer. The sun was not yet rising, but things were beginning to awaken, though Samaire's reverie continued.

"Princess?" A voice broke the silence.

Samaire turned away from the lake, to see Anatoli standing at the end of the bridge. She nodded in greeting, but said nothing. He walked toward her.

"We should leave soon," he said. "I want to be outside of Ania before the city awakens. The fewer souls who witness our leaving, the better." He joined Samaire on the bridge, standing beside her and casting his gaze out upon the water.

"I agree," Samaire responded quietly.

"Your mother worries for you," he commented.

"I know," Samaire replied, still not turning to look at him. "And I hate to cause her pain by my leaving. But I see no other way to resolve this. My father is in prison, Anatoli. What else can I do?"

"Little else, I fear," said Anatoli gravely. "It was either that or leave him at the White King's mercy. Do not fear, Samaire," he cast of her title, speaking not as a bodyguard to a princess, but as a father would to his daughter. "You chose what you believed in your heart to be the right course. And you will see that course through to its end—despite the hardships that lie hence."

Samaire let out a deep sigh. "My mind is set steadfast on this course. But my heart gives me pause. What if I should fail? What if we do not return? There can be no certainty in this; we know so little about the North." She turned to him, eyes full of anxiety. "Fantina is not ready to rule," she said, thinking worriedly of her sister. "I worry for her sake more than my own…"

Anatoli gave a wry smile. "Well, it will take the entire Kremlian army to deter this soldier," he said lightly. "I defend my lady until I breathe my last."

Samaire laughed a little; for the first time that night, she felt her spirits life. Anatoli shared in the moment, then turned serious. "Whatever may come, Samaire, I am honored to serve such a magnificent, headstrong woman as yourself. And on no day in my life will I be prouder than the day that I can call you my queen. I believe that this path you have chosen is the right one." He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We will see this through," he said. "For Cassalie."

Samaire nodded. "For Cassalie."

They were silent for another moment, watching as the first faint rays of light began to appear on the horizon.

"Come," Anatoli said gently. "It is time. We must go."

As they walked back to the palace, the fear in Samaire's heart, though it did not vanish completely, began to subside. She was comforted by Anatoli's words and confidence, and as she slipped in and out of her chamber with her rucksack, saying a silent goodbye to her sister, she prayed that they would give her strength enough for the journey ahead.

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review... please and thank you :) 


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